


it's all derek's fault

by quietlyintoemptyspaces



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossover, Curses, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Implied Relationships, Kinda Cracky, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Drinking, Unsafe Sex, brief underage sex, magic curse-breaking knot, might seem a little like dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietlyintoemptyspaces/pseuds/quietlyintoemptyspaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You were cursed,” Sam says gently, which, yeah, Stiles should have seen that one coming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right,” Stiles sighs. “Of course. So what was it? Fairy? Witch? Demon? Succubus? Kanima seeking out some screwed up revenge for crushing on his girlfriend? And also, curse? What kind of curse? Because the only thing I can think about is sex. Is it a super teenage horniness curse? Right, yeah, that would be my luck.” Dean blinks at him from the rearview mirror. “You have amazing eyes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam laughs and Dean shoots him one of those brotherly looks that says I will cut you, bitch. Stiles could be paraphrasing, though. He’s good at that. “How much do you know about curses?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's all derek's fault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krysylyn86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krysylyn86/gifts).



> Written for 3rd prompt here: http://krysylyn86.tumblr.com/post/43958376994/a-few-teen-wolf-prompts
> 
> "Before going on a class trip Stiles confesses his love to Derek. Derek rejects him and while on the school trip Stiles sneaks out and puts to use his fake ID. While in a club he gets be-spelled, cursed, etc and it cause him to have uncontrollable lust, wherein he could hurt someone if they say no. Sam and Dean come to the rescue with some awesome sex, but what was supposed to fix it didn’t help. Stiles goes with them and in return for the sex he does the research and anything else he can help with. Either they have to go to Beacon Hills for a hunt and Derek sets things straight or he tracks Stiles because Stiles is his mate. Maybe knotting cures Stiles of whatever causes the uncontrollable lust."

It’s a stupid thing to do, he knows, but he only has a week left before he’s eighteen, so he figures he deserves a little stupidity in the name of a broken heart. A few drinks in him and Stiles can even blame Derek and his stupidly, unfairly attractive, scowling frowny face that will probably give him premature wrinkles if he weren’t an unemotional lump of a werewolf with superpowered pretty genes. And if Scott were here as his wingman rather than splitting his time between skulking suspiciously after Isaac and unsuccessfully stalking Allison he’d totally agree with Stiles; he’s always thought Derek was a douche anyway. The levels of doucheness usually reserved for Jackson, even.

 

It’s surprising, almost, how easy it is to slip away unnoticed when most of his friends are werewolves, save for Allison who doesn’t need to worry about Stiles because he’s not a werewolf, and Lydia, who’s pretty much spent her entire life ignoring him anyway, so why change things now?

 

His fake ID is poorly made, but the scary looking bouncer guy barely glances at it before Stiles is being waved into some garish club with strobe lights and a pounding bass that reverberates in his sternum. Sweaty bodies press into either side of him, glide against and slide around and grab – yeah, he’s going to need a drink. Right now.

 

A girl at the bar grins at him, and she reminds him of Erica, but less impressive; he grins back, she buys him a drink, they dance.

 

If there’s anything he’s learned since Scott got bit by Crazy-Alpha-Peter, it’s not to let his guard down. Which is hard to do when an attractive woman is dragging him by his belt loops out the back and then pressing him to the wall and trying to suck his soul out through his mouth. And, oh, that’s really what she’s doing. Stiles should probably fight her more, but her hand is at his zipper and her knees are starting to bend and – yep. That’s her tongue. On his dick. And he officially has no problem with this anymore. Soul suck away.

 

It’s interrupted – of fucking course, because this is his life – by a shotgun, and he only knows that sound because his dad has one that Stiles isn’t supposed to know about, and, oh yeah, he’s been followed by hunters for the past two years. So his dick is in the lady’s mouth, someone shoots – not him, not yet, dammit – there’s a decidedly fleshy sounding impact, a weird screech that has him covering his ears, and then his dick is in the air and there’s no more lady.

 

But, hey, on the plus side there’s two good looking dudes staring at him now. The guns pointed at him are a little off-putting , to be honest, but he’s seventeen, soon to be eighteen, and it takes more than the threat of death to curve his sexual appetite. And look, they’re wearing jeans. Tight jeans. Broad shoulders. Jawlines. Big hands. Big feet. Dimples.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

Oh. Deep voice. Gruff voice. Sexy voice.

 

And he’s off. Without a touch.

 

His fucking life.

 

-

 

They’re hunters. And brothers. Which he did not see coming. Hunters, yes. Big guns, scowly, sarcastic. Trunk full of guns and knives and salt. But they don’t really look related. Which is a plus for Stiles, because he can imagine them kissing and not feel guilty about it. And usually he’s much better at not thinking about sex so much, but he’s still hard. Which, wow, it doesn’t normally happen that fast, but now it kind of hurts. All he wants to do is get off.

 

“This isn’t normal,” he says from the back seat.

 

It’s a nice car. Black, shiny, rumbly. Older. Stiles doesn’t know much about cars, but he knows enough to tell this is a nice car. And not much else. With these two, though, it’s probably seen a lot of action. In the back seat, even. Where he is. Which he should not be thinking about.

 

“Okay, seriously. I know I’m bad at focusing on the best of days, but I’ve been painfully hard since that lady stuck her tongue in my mouth and every thought I have is turning to sex. More than usual.” 

 

The two up front are quiet. It’s weird, because Stiles isn’t used to quiet. Even with Derek there’s usually something. Which, Derek.

 

“This is all Derek’s fault. He was starting to act human. The other day he was actually nice about telling me to shut up. And then I confessed my undying love for him and broke him. Emotionally constipated werew—” Right. Hunters. Might not be as understanding as the Argents, who really only shoot at them once a week anymore. Good times, those. “Are we going? Because I’m on a school trip. With chaperones. Bad chaperones, but still. And my friends will be looking for me. They can only stand silence so long, you know. It’s something I’ve ingrained in them, so that when I’m missing they just have to follow the annoyed people cursing the fact that their ears work. My dad’s not afraid to call on a statewide manhunt either. He’s done it before. Which is why my Xbox is still in the attic, dammit. That was Derek’s fault too.”

 

“You ever shut up?” That was the driver. Short hair, gruff voice. Surprisingly sarcastic.

 

“Dean, come on. He’s a kid. This can’t be easy for him.” And the other one. Taller, longer hair. Sympathetic and understanding. 

 

“Sam. He’s annoying.”

 

Stiles leans up so that his head is resting between their shoulders and grins. “You can keep my mouth busy easily enough, you know. My best friend actually spent a whole summer devising ways to get me to shut up. We were fifteen, though, so most of them employed food and-or video games. Two involved duct tape. And once he tried to smother me with a pillow, but I just talked until I ran out of breath. He still feels guilty about that one, so now he either zones out or throws a frozen burrito at my head. I’m pretty sure he envisions what it would be like to have both Isaac and Allison naked together without poison arrows and unbridled rage, but that might just be me. I think about that a lot, actually.”

 

“You were cursed,” Sam says gently, which, yeah, Stiles should have seen that one coming.

 

“Right,” Stiles sighs. “Of course. So what was it? Fairy? Witch? Demon? Succubus? Kanima seeking out some screwed up revenge for crushing on his girlfriend? And also, curse? What kind of curse? Because the only thing I can think about is sex. Is it a super teenage horniness curse? Right, yeah, that would be my luck.” Dean blinks at him from the rearview mirror. “You have amazing eyes.”

 

Sam laughs and Dean shoots him one of those brotherly looks that says I will cut you, bitch. Stiles could be paraphrasing, though. He’s good at that. “How much do you know about curses?”

 

“Not much. More than most teenagers, I suppose, given the kind of company I keep. That and I have an unhealthy addiction to internet search engines and a scary need to know things that I shouldn’t.”

 

“Right,” Dean drawls with a self-righteous smirk. And, oh, look, crappy motel. “Well, it’s a lust curse. And there’s really only one way to get rid of it.”

 

Sam shifts uncomfortably. Isn’t that adorable.

 

Stiles smiles. He’s only a little nervous. “I suppose now is a bad time to tell you that I’m a virgin.”

 

Dean cocks his eyebrows and points an unholy look at him. “Not for long.”

 

-

 

Stiles is kind of hoping it’s only going to take once for this lust curse thing to leave him alone, but he’s been twice with Dean and once with Sam, and it only feels worse. He scratches his nails down arms and backs and tries to dig his heels in when either of them pulls away, and for a few minutes it turns violent enough that they have to restrain him. He’d think it was kinky if they were planning on giving him what he wants, but they’re not. 

 

And he can’t go back like this, can’t just attack because someone says no to sex. Granted, werewolves should be able to handle him just fine, what with their super strength and all. And between Deaton and the bestiary they should be able to find a cure relatively quickly, since obviously sex isn’t working.

 

But he can’t take that chance.

 

After he’s cooled down a little and gone another round, he sends his dad a text and then takes the battery out of his phone.

 

Something happened. But I’m fine. Don’t worry. I love you and I’ll let you know as soon I get it figured out. Stay safe.

 

-

 

Sam and Dean have a varied collection of old books that really shouldn’t be as interesting as they are to Stiles, so while they’re not fucking off the effects of the curse Stiles buries his nose in the dusty tomes and reads up on all his mythological lore. 

 

They’re like horny nomad hunters. Stiles mostly just stretches out on the back seat and tries to figure out what’s kidnapping people, what’s eating people, what’s killing people, or what’s turning people into not-people. They’d tried rotation a few times, but Stiles kept trying to give road head, once while he was attempting to drive, so now he’s generally kept in the back and whoever’s not driving gets to join him when he starts rubbing against the seats.

 

He supposes he should be really lucky no one’s attempted to pull them over yet.

 

They drive from suspicious case to suspicious case, Stiles donating research hours, Dean and Sam donating sexual healing in alternating rounds. And it’s nice. Stiles can do this. Even if he does miss his dad. And Scott. And pretty much everyone. Even stupid Derek. And he should really stop blaming Derek for everything, because it’s not really his fault that werewolves end up with other werewolves or crazy hunters. Of which Stiles is neither.

 

He is a kick-ass researcher however. And he’s developing new levels of flexibility previously undiscovered, which comes in handy in certain sexual positions. And in fights.

 

On his eighteenth birthday Stiles decides to try something new.

 

“I want you both. At the same time.”

 

Dean’s draped over his back and lets out a huff against his shoulder. “Well, that’s one way to shut you up.”

 

Sam stands in front of him, reaching for the buckle of his belt. Why isn’t he undressed yet? “Are you sure? Because I can wait.”

 

“I can’t. Just do it.”

 

And then his ass is full and his mouth is full and that’s just – yeah, he’s good. He should have tried this before. Stiles can totally understand Scott’s Romeo-Juliet act with Allison now, because sex is amazing. No wonder people do it all the time. He bets sex with Derek would be brain-shattering, but Stiles can’t really think about that right now, because it’s never going to happen.

 

“Sex is great.”

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

 

-

 

“Bobby’s not having any luck figuring this thing out either,” Sam says from the end of one bed, staring down at his phone as though it has the answers but it’s not sharing. “Says it should have cleared up after the first night. A week at most. But it’s going on three now and I think it’s getting stronger.”

 

“I’m going to take you both tonight.”

 

Dean’s out getting dinner, which could be a mistake because every time he’s come back with food it’s some greasy monstrosity, but at least he’s caught on to Stiles’ addiction to curly fries. And it’s nice to have pie that’s not made with artificial sweeteners. 

 

Sam frowns at him. “Haven’t we been doing that for the past two weeks?”

 

Stiles smiles innocently and turns the laptop to face Sam. It’s been muted, but the video is clear enough from the distance of the room. “Dean’s the one who brought it up.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

 

“I think we should try it. The further along this stupid curse thing gets the less I care about what’s in my mouth. Besides, this should prove to be some quality brotherly bonding shit. And brothers need shared activities outside of killing things.”

 

“Have you always been this strange or is it a recent development?”

 

-

 

It takes Stiles a bit longer than normal to realize where they are, and that’s only because he spots his dad’s cruiser at the police station when they pass it. He jerks himself into a sitting position and almost brains himself on the roof of the car. “What the hell are we doing here?” He thinks he controls the hysteria in his voice very well. “Why are we here?”

 

“Some hunters need a little help and we were headed this way anyway, so we volunteered our services.”

 

“And Dean used to date the guy’s sister,” Sam adds flatly.

 

And oh. Oh. Because Stiles has seen the sort of crazy that Dean’s attracted to. And that level of crazy, in Beacon Hills, can only refer to Kate Argent. “You dated Kate Argent? Are you crazy!”

 

“You know Kate?” Dean asks, like that’s something he should be asking. Like he’s going to see her in a few minutes. Right. He probably doesn’t know.

 

“I knew her. For like five minutes. She was Allison’s aunt. Until the guy whose family she burnt to death returned the favor.”

 

“Damn, I was looking forward to that reunion.”

 

Sam sighs and shakes his head in the passenger seat. “It’s a sensitive case. Someone’s missing and they can’t find any traces. They’re hoping we might have seen something or heard something.”

 

Stiles beats his head against the back of the front seat. “Missing person? Oh my god. There’s a very special place in hell reserved for me, isn’t there? Can I just hide in the trunk until we leave again?”

 

“What? No!” Dean says sternly. “If you’re familiar with the Argents you might be able to help.”

 

Stiles groans. “Yeah, well if they’re looking for who I think they’re looking for, I’ll be doing more than just giving a helping hand.” He sinks back into his seat and covers his eyes. “We just had to come to Beacon Hills.”

 

It’s been almost a month, so his hair’s a little longer than it was, and with all the energy he’s been burning off thanks to the curse of ultimate horniness he’s a little thinner, too. And just a bit sleep deprived, but that’s pretty normal, so he’s not really counting it.

 

He should expect Scott. He really should, because as soon as the car stops at the end of the driveway, the shape of his best friend is bounding towards him on all fours followed closely by Allison and her father and wow, no Isaac. Stiles is almost disappointed.

 

“Stiles!” And then his arms are full of a bro-hugging, platonically kissing Scott and things would be getting awkward fast if Stiles hadn’t just been double-boned three hours ago. Which is not something he’s about to tell Scott right now. “Oh my god! Where have you been!”

 

“Expanding my horizons,” Stiles answers honestly. “I even had a drink with a demon. Crawley, I think? Kinda handsy fellow.” Among other things Stiles isn’t ready to share just yet. “Great thing about demons though is that they don’t mind giving alcohol to minors. Goes against the job description I guess.”

 

And right, there’s awkward staring going on behind his back right now isn’t there? Or rather, over Scott’s back, because Stiles never made it out of the car before Scott pounced on him. “And that’s Dean and Sam. Great guys. Hunters, so you might want to keep your claws and teeth and glowy eyes to yourself. They don’t mind giving alcohol to minors either. But don’t tell my dad that. If you tell him anything tell him they were pure and angelic and saintly. In fact, tell him they’re priests. They have outfits. It’s not a lie.”

 

“Your dad’s been worried sick about you,” Chris Argent says. “But I told him we’d find you. Two more days and he would’ve called in the National Guard. We’ve all been worried.”

 

Scott scoffed. “He wouldn’t have stopped there.”

 

“Worried?” Stiles asks with deep suspicion. “You just miss shooting in my general direction every few days. Admit it. I’m a pretty fetching target.”

 

“Touching reunion,” Dean says, finally getting out of the driver’s seat with a slam of the door. But a gentle slam, because that car is his baby. “Now what the hell’s going on? And why are you running from hunters?”

 

“Relax,” Stiles says, finally unlatching himself from Scott. “Put away the wolfsbane and the rock salt. Scott’s a friend. He’s just a werewolf too. Who happens to be the ex of Allison here. Hunters, werewolves, you know the story right?” Stiles shrugs. “I only have three human friends. And all of them are terrifying. Strange how that works. Probably too much exposure to intimidating alpha during that first year.”

 

“Um, yeah,” Allison says. “Derek’s kind of… on a warpath.”

 

“Did anyone try hugging him? Usually that gets him to freeze for an entire minute. I’ve timed it. It works.”

 

“Dude, no one wants to hug Derek except you,” Scott says. “I mean, you just disappeared and he was all beating himself up. He’s been horrible. He thinks it was his fault you left.”

 

“Stiles was cursed,” Sam says suddenly. “That’s why he left.”

 

“But I was cursed because he’s a jerk, so it works out.”

 

“Cursed?” Allison asks. “By what?”

 

“Demon. Witch.” Stiles shrugs. “Who knows? I just know I’m like a full body transformation away from turning into a succubus. Which is weird.”

 

Scott’s brow wrinkles. “I thought a succubus was a girl.”

 

“Hey, it’ll be an interesting transition at least.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

And there’s Derek. Sneaky, glowering, lurking Derek. Nice to see some things haven’t changed since he’s been gone. “Heeey! Dean, Sam, this is my cousin Miguel.”

 

“It wasn’t funny the first time Stiles,” Derek says through gritted teeth. Flashing eyes. That’s a warning, but Stiles has never been very good at listening to those. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

 

And hey, why not? It’s not like Derek has any claim on him, right? He made that abundantly clear the first time. “Attempting to cure the curse with amazing sex and awkward brotherly bonding. Turns out lack of sex makes the curse cranky. And extremely violent. It was borderline kinky for the first few nights.”

 

“Oh my god,” Scott says weakly with a whimper. “I can’t hear this.”

 

Allison makes a noncommittal gesture. “I could stand to hear a little more.”

 

Stiles smiles at her and nods. “Oh, I can give you a full rundown later. Blow by blow. I’ll spare no detail.”

 

“I… think we’re done here,” Sam says cautiously as he edges back into the car.

 

Dean follows, but turns just as he opens the door with a huge ass grin. “One more for the road?”

 

Derek’s growl practically shakes the ground, and that is just not fair. The only two willing to help and they’re leaving him high and dry, stranded in a circle of traumatized werewolves and traumatizing hunters. Derek’s grip is harsh on his wrist and there’s a curl to his lip that is borderline feral and Stiles should not find that attractive. Especially not now. Because that curse is starting to rear its ugly head again and the only one Stiles is willing to sleep with wants nothing to do with him.

 

Derek tugs him into the woods, half running, and Stiles thinks that Scott is probably happy to be left behind. But he’s a little surprised Allison isn’t following them. Chris Argent could go either way and thinking about that man is not something that Stiles wants to do at the moment. By the time they get to the crappy remains of the Hale house Stiles is ready to drop his pants because every movement is agonizing and pleasurable and he doesn’t even know what to do with that. And if Derek thinks he’s walking up those less than stable stairs he has another think coming.

 

But they bypass the stairs and go for this little hollowed out cove beneath them with a worn mattress and torn sheets and those are handcuffs. Those are his handcuffs. Derek stole his handcuffs that he unlawfully appropriated from his dad. Impossibly, in a blink, they are both naked and on the bed. “Those are the only clothes I had on me, you know. And also, what the hell do you think you’re doing? The last I remember your feelings towards me amounted to the kind of feelings rats had towards fleas in the dark ages. And oh my god – don’t just start with two fingers!”

 

Derek growls, because that’s the majority of his language, and lets his eyes flash red at Stiles when he jerks away. “You’re already stretched.”

 

“Yeah? So? There’s a common courtesy here –” Derek spits into his hand and presses between Stiles’ thighs. “Oh, that is – really? Really?” Three fingers and then, “You better be wearing a condom, buddy, because I am not getting any weird werewolf diseases.”

 

Derek grunts. “No diseases, stupid. And you’re mine now, so there’s no need.”

 

“Great pillow talk, jerk.” This is good. Really good. Stiles moans and drags his nails down Derek’s back. Teeth scratch at his neck between moans of mine, mine, and that should not be hot. It should be terrifying, because Stiles has never been turned on by the whole possessive thing before. It’s actually quite annoying, thinking of himself as someone’s property, thinking of anyone as someone’s property, but it’s working right now. “Oh my god, what is that? Are you kidding me? That’s supposed to be an urban legend! Don’t force it in! Oh my god!”

 

Derek’s knot presses into him, puts pressure on him and turns the pain into pleasure, but Stiles thinks that’s more the curse working than hormones and common sense because something like this cannot be a good feeling. 

 

There are these sweet sounds being punched out of Derek’s throat with every thrust and they escape out the sides of his mouth where it’s pressed into the junction of Stiles’ shoulder and neck. It’s between that and the feeling of being filled so completely that Stiles lets go with a wail of his own, legs wrapped around Derek’s slowly swiveling hips and oh, god, he’s never going to walk again. A minute more and Derek follows him over the edge. The knot pulses inside him and its weird feeling it, weird feeling Derek’s dick twitch and, “Oh my god! Unsanitary! I’m not cleaning it up, this is all on you.”

 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says into his mouth and then kisses him.

 

“Mmm, okay.”

 

-

 

“This is—no! Don’t move away. It’s all going to – oh, this is gross! Seriously, who comes this much?”

 

“Well, are you thinking about sex?”

 

“I’m thinking about a vow of celibacy and a werewolf proof chastity belt.”

 

“So you’re cured.”

 

“And you’re a smug jerk.”

 

“But you love me.”

 

“And you – oh my god. Again?”

**Author's Note:**

> effortlessandnonetooserious.tumblr.com


End file.
